


Peonies

by Mitchellsfingerlessgloves



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Nonpocalypse, Part Two, Scheming, They think they're helping Ezra and Crowley get together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 20:25:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mitchellsfingerlessgloves/pseuds/Mitchellsfingerlessgloves
Summary: Of course the only way to get Crowley and Aziraphale to admit their feelings for one another is to stage a catastrophic, world-ending event.





	Peonies

“I think,” Pepper announced, standing in front of the three boys with her chin tilted up, “that Aziraphale and Crowley are desperately in love.”

“What?” Adam didn’t look up, scratching Dog’s belly as the beast squirmed happily amongst dry leaves. 

“Yes, actually, what?” Wensleydale repeated, looking up at the girl in confusion. He pushed his glasses up and looked over to Brian.

The dark haired boy nodded once. “I agree.”

“In love?” Wensleydale demanded hotly. “How do you know they’re in love?”

“You can tell because of the way that they look at each other,” Pepper said, an almost dreamy expression crossing her face. She snapped out of it quickly, straightening up and adding, “Not that I like any of that stuff.”

Adam finally looked up, a small frown on his face. “If they’re in love, what are we to do about it?”

“We help them get together, of course!” Brian stood up, brushing smudges of mud on the knees of his jeans. When it made no difference, he shrugged his shoulders, only for Adam to wave a hand and remove the stains almost subconsciously. The darker-haired boy blinked down at his clean trousers with a bemused smile; the few people that Adam had allowed to keep their memories of the Nonpocalypse were still getting used to the fact that the nearly twelve year old boy had divine powers[1].

[1: Adam had maintained the wiped memories for three months (for which he was very proud of himself) before he off-handedly mentioned the decaying skull which was Death, and, upon the confusion of the other five people in Jasmine Cottage, frustratedly conjured an image in thin air of the offending Biker. Newt had turned pale, Pepper screamed, and Brian mumbled a quiet ‘wicked’. It was too much hassle to keep up the lie after that.]

“And how can we do that?” Wensleydale asked dubiously, although he seemed to be getting on board with the idea. The angel and demon had seemed to act strangely around each other, now that the Nonpocalypse was over, and the eleven year old boy couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t love that had them behaving that way. 

“We need to talk to some people we know have fallen in love,” Pepper said, self-assured. Dog ambled towards her, and she bent down to give him a scratch behind the ears, still focused on her three friends. 

“Like who?” Brian asked. “Our parents?”

Adam said, “Course not. We need to talk to Anathema and Newt.”

*

The smell of sage was strong in Jasmine Cottage, when the Them arrived.

“What brought us together?” Newt pondered, tapping a finger against his chin. “The end of the world, I suppose.”

Anathema stepped through the doorway with a tray in her hands, mismatched mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits balanced precariously as she walked. The Them reached for the plate instantly; Pepper and Brian selected Custard Creams, Adam and Bourbon, and Wensleydale a Rich Tea.

“That doesn’t really help,” Adam replied, crumbs tumbling from his mouth as he spoke. He washed down his mouthful with a gulp of tea before continuing, “We can’t recreate the end of the world, can we?”

Anathema hummed, slipping her round glasses onto her nose and peering at Adam. “No, I don’t think we could.”

“Well then what?” Brian demanded. He picked up another biscuit and shovelled the entire thing into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously as he looked at his friends, gathered around him. “Your tea’s really coming along, Anathema,” he added, which caused the witch to smile widely. 

“Maybe,” Pepper said carefully, “we can get them into some sort of trouble.”

“Trouble?” Newt repeated, dubious. “We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

The girl shook her head, suddenly grinning in excitement. “No, no! We can make them think they need to save the world- or maybe not the world, something smaller, like Tadfield- and that’s what finally gets them together.”

Just as Newt opened his mouth, no doubt ready to shoot the plan down, Anathema said, “Why, Pepper, that’s brilliant.”

Newt blinked. “It is?”

“It is!” Adam looked gleeful, exchanging a knowing smile with Pepper before nodding importantly. “We need to come up with a plan.”

“Well then,” Wensleydale said, setting down his empty mug, “we’ll need some more tea.”

*

It had been almost two hours since the Them had arrived; the small group had a board standing in the middle of the living room with red marker scrawled across it, various suggestions scribbled by each member.

Newt had long since given up trying to help with the plan, his recommendation of ‘what if the plants started attacking us’ being brutally shut down by Pepper. He had graciously accepted his demotion of snack-maker, fussing about the other five people in the room and providing more cups of tea as they brainstormed. 

The board was messy, but there was a slight method to the madness- Anathema’s small, curling script was at the top, as she was the only person who could reach; Adam’s chicken scratch took one of the bottom corners, while Wensleydale’s took the other, and Pepper’s looping font was in the centre. Brian had taken to calling out random ideas and letting whoever was closest write it down for him, and, surprisingly, his ideas seemed the best.

 _Alien attack, sinkhole under Tadfield, zombies, poisoned water supply, government interference in education, forced veganism_ were the suggestions so far, none of them seemingly effective enough.

“The thing is,” Anathema said, a sigh lacing her voice, “Newton and I were brought together because the prophecy foretold it too. There were other factors, besides the end of the world.”

“Can you make another prophecy, then?” Wensleydale asked, and Anathema shook her head. 

“They know I burned the second volume; there’s nothing left.” Aziraphale had appeared heartbroken when Anathema admitted what she had done, mumbling about how he would have ‘held onto it for her’ in his bookshop. Moments later, Crowley had placed a casual hand on the angel’s shoulder, and he had relaxed instantly. 

“So they need to think that they’re _supposed_ to get together,” Adam mused. “Maybe something to do with Heaven and Hell?”

“Or maybe,” Pepper said, “something to do with _you_.”

Adam blinked. “Me?”

“You! What if you got in some kind of trouble, and they needed to get you out of it? And only them working together would help?”

Brian suddenly sat up, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “Yeah! How about: you’ve gone all ‘anti-christ’ again and they need to convince you not to destroy the world. And they need to prove their love to prove that it’s worth saving!”

“So we _are_ going to recreate the end of the world?” Wensleydale said, dubious.

Adam shrugged. “I’ll just make a lot of noise and that should do it. I don’t think it matter too much.”

From the sofa, Newt hummed. “Okay. So how do we go about this?”

*

The plan, they would say, was fool-proof. Adam would appear to be seduced by his father (Satan, not Mr. Young) and begin to threaten annihilation of Earth again. The Them (and Newt) would pose as the Bikers of the Apocalypse, while Anathema would call for Aziraphale and Crowley, hinting that they needed to prove their love to bring Adam back to humanity once more. 

On their way into the forest on the outskirts of Tadfield, where they would stage their second Nonpocalypse [2] they had bumped into Greasy Johnson, the large boy looking sullen as he walked. He looked as though he were about to shout something nasty to the Them, but caught sight of the two adults behind them and trundled off, kicking at a fallen branch as he walked.

[2: they had considered the airbase again, but decided that those poor soldiers had been through enough; there were still several of them who blanched at the sight of Adam with no clue as to why they were getting palpitations while looking at a nondescript eleven year old boy] 

“This is so cool,” breathed Brian, marvelling down at his gloved hands. He had eagerly decided to represent Death, donned in black leather with his visor pulled down over his head. Adam had insisted they keep the helmets on; he couldn’t remember all of the Bikers’ features, and didn’t want Aziraphale and Crowley figuring out something was afoot right away.

“Actually, I’m not sure if I like it,” said Wensleydale sniffily. He was dressed as Famine, and stood slouched beside Death, suddenly reluctant.

Pepper said shortly, “What’s the problem, Wensley? We just have to stand around and look intimidating.” She was relishing in her role as War, the woman who had crossed her months before- she had initially mocked the red-haired woman, posing dramatically and calling herself ‘a backwards, dip-dyed freak’ before settling into her role with ease.

Further astray, Newt was the final Biker, Pollution, looking almost as uncomfortable as Wensleydale. “Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered, slipping his glasses into a pocket and slamming down the visor of his helmet.

Adam nodded and perched on a log, looking towards Anathema. “All right. Make the call.” 

The witch took a few steps away, holding her phone up to her ear and pressing a hand to her other ear, blocking out the sounds of the children’s rehearsal.

The phone rang six times before it was picked up, Crowley’s voice snippy as he asked, “Witch? What is it?”

In the background, Aziraphale could he heard asking, “Which witch?” to which Crowley replied, “Which witch do you think? We only know one!”

More mumbling was heard, and then Crowley said, with less attitude, “Aziraphale says ‘hi’.”

“Oh, hi, Aziraphale!” Anathema said cheerily, then clearing her throat, flustered, as Adam shot her an exasperated look. “Right, erm, Crowley? I need your help.”

“Help?” The demon repeated, sounding curious. “Got some peonies that need a kick up the backside? Your garden was in frightful condition last time I saw it, I didn’t want to say.”

Affronted, Anathema replied, “My peonies are fine, thank you. No, no, it’s Adam.”

“What’s wrong with Adam?” He asked, serious. More mumbling ensued, and Anathema strained her ears to listen.

“Put her on speaker, Crowley-“

“Hang _on_ , angel, I need to figure out this God- ow, still burns- forsaken thing- there we go!”

“What seems to be the problem, Anathema?” Aziraphale’s soft tone permeated the phone, laced with worry, and Anathema could picture him standing close to Crowley, their elbows touching, wringing his hands in front of him as he waited for an answer.

“I think he’s leaning towards starting another Apocalypse.”

“What?” 

Anathema nodded. “Yes, yes, he’s been very stressed the past few weeks. Um, a little upset? About the whales especially. And he seems to think there isn’t enough, uh, love! Yes, not enough love in the world. Or between Heaven and Hell, you know? This Apocalypse he wants to cause a rumble throughout, get right down to the nitty gritty.”

Without pause, Aziraphale said, “We’re on our way.” Seconds later, the phone was hung up.

Adam offered a kind thumbs up when Anathema hung up, the boy standing up and brushing down his jeans. 

“I suppose they’ll be here soon,” the witch said. “It’s only a matter of time.”

*

That time was, in fact, twelve minutes and thirty eight seconds. Crowley had broken the speedometer on the Bentley, and Queen’s _Don’t Stop Me Now_ hadn’t helped his rush. 

The car was parked at the corner of the forest, and the demon and angel had no trouble finding the small group, surrounding Adam, who was several metres in the air. Dry leaves swirled in the air around him, and the Four Bikers of the Apocalypse stood on either side, quiet and unmoving. 

Anathema cowered behind a tree, a look of relief passing over her face when she saw them both approach, determination in their eyes.

She waved a hand towards them, and they hurried towards her, leaning down as she said, “You need to talk to him! Prove to him that there’s still something worth saving!”

Aziraphale glanced over to the floating child and asked, “Like what, exactly?”

Crowley scoffed. “There’s _loads_ of things, angel. Books, and plants, and sushi, and that mutt of his…”

Anathema interjected. “I think he might need a little more that that. Just,” she gestured towards him, “go and talk to him.”

“Well, all right,” Aziraphale said, looking unconvinced. He exchanged a silent glance with Crowley, and, together, they stepped into the ring of leaves, shouting over the whistle of the wind. 

Anathema watched with a gentle smile on her face.

“Adam!” Crowley shouted. The boy snapped his head down to look at the demon, a smile almost breaking out onto his lips. He maintained his neutral face, however, staying quiet to let Crowley keep talking. 

“Adam, you’ve got to stop this!”

“You’re better than this,” Aziraphale added helpfully.

“Why should I stop?” Adam demanded, voice amplified and coming from all angles[3]. 

[3: this was a skill he had been practising, throwing his voice around the house to distract his mother long enough to steal a biscuit or cake without her catching him.]

“Like we said _the last time this happened_ ,” Crowley said, almost put-out, “this is your choice. And you like Earth. And you like giving people the choice to do what they want, even if it isn’t the right thing!”

“People don’t get along enough,” Adam protested. “They’re hateful and cruel and I want to start it all again. Better, this time.”

“Oh, that isn’t true, Adam,” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps some people are a little… Unkind, but there are so many who are loving, and caring, and do so much for others.”  
Adam pointed between the two. “What about you lot? Angels and demons are always fighting, you said so yourselves.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale admitted. “But look at Crowley and I! We’ve been friends for six thousand years now. Surely that’s proof that, over time, we could set aside our differences? You need to give us the opportunity to first!”

Adam paused, contemplating his next words. “But what about love?”

“Wha- love?” Crowley said, struck dumb. When Adam nodded, he continued, “What do you mean ‘love’?”

“I don’t just want you guys to tolerate each other. I want you to care about each other! Are angels and demons even capable of loving things? Of loving each other?”

The angel and demon before him both blanched. 

Aziraphale spoke first. “Why of course, my dear boy! I love all of humanity, it’s an angelic thing, but it rings true. And I love books, you know that, and I do love,” he paused, glancing over to the demon beside him, “I do love Crowley here too.”

“You do!” Exclaimed Adam, getting so excited that he fell back down to the ground. He scraped his knees, but didn’t say anything about it, a delighted smile on his face.  
Behind him, Newt[4] had let out a worried, “Oh dear,” at the boy’s fall.

[4: he was Pollution, in case you needed a reminder]

Crowley furrowed his eyebrows and stepped forward, eyes fixated on the Biker in faded white. “Hang on,” he muttered, a finger pointed in Pollution’s direction. The Biker took a harried step back, stumbling over heavy boots and uttering a quiet whine.

 

With a flourish, the helmet vanished, revealing Newton Pulsifer decked in tight leather, blinking rapidly in the sunlight.

“All right, what’s going on?”

Adam cursed under his breath and waved his own hand, removing the disguises from his friends. They looked meek as they caught the eyes of Aziraphale and Crowley, the first of whom looked both confused and amused, the second of whom appeared mildly irritated yet impressed.

Anathema stepped up behind them, breathing in a deep breath before admitting, “We wanted you to admit your feelings for each other and we staged an elaborate plan in hopes of getting you to confess.”

Crowley nudged his sunglasses up his nose and questioned, “Eh?”

Pepper stumbled forward, looking apologetic. “It’s just- we figured you’re both in love with each other, and you just needed a push to tell each other.”

The angel looked over to the demon, who wore a pinched expression, not dissimilar to that which Aziraphale wore often[5]. However, Aziraphale was smiling widely, an almost smug expression on his own face.

[5: the angel wore this particular expression when he 1. Was interrupted from reading a good book, 2. There weren’t any California Rolls left when he went to buy sushi, 3. When a customer actually brought a book to the till when they caught him during his twenty minutes of opening times, 4. When Crowley laughed as he almost hit a pedestrian (but somehow never did)]

“I told you we'd be no good at keeping it a secret from them.”

Crowley hissed in displeasure, ignoring the confused expressions being sent in their directions. Newt opened his mouth, only to be stopped as Crowley spat, “We’re already together.”

“But,” Adam protested, “but you called him your best friend!”

Crowley shrugged. “He is my best friend. What would you rather I call him? My partner? Husband- we did get married in two thousand and sixteen- or _lover_?”

Brian pulled a face, shaking his head emphatically. “How long have you two been together? And why didn’t you say anything?”

“Oh, since three thousand five hundred and twelve BC, I believe?” Aziraphale said, looking amused.

“Five hundred and _eleven_ ,” Crowley corrected, the tiniest pout on his lips. Aziraphale rolled his eyes good-naturedly and bumped his shoulder against Crowley’s, causing the demon to relent and grin down towards the shorter. 

“And we didn’t say anything because it didn’t have much to do with anything,” the angel concluded, nodding with satisfaction.

“Plus we were a little distracted with trying to stop the Apocalypse,” Crowley put in.

Anathema stepped forward. “We’re sorry for meddling.” She looked back towards the Them, all of whom were looking down at their muddy boots, silent. “ _Aren’t we_?”

A chorus of muttered ‘yes, we are’s rung through the warm air, barely reaching the angel and demon’s ears.

Crowley shrugged. “’S all right, I guess. But I do think we’re owed one of those cakes Aziraphale likes as an apology.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Oh yes, that would be nice. And maybe a new water spritzer for Crowley would do.”

The witch nodded. “Of course. Although, it is nice to know that angels and demons can love each other in all ways, you know?”

“We aren’t exactly your average angel and demon,” Crowley reminded, slinging a casual arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “But, since we’re here, Anathema? I really should have a talk with those peonies.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love each and every one of these nerds.  
> Aziraphale and Crowley's chemisty is undeniable, and literally halfway through the book I was reading fic for them lol. So after the show I brainstormed my own fic and finally came up with a plot I liked, a rolled with it.   
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
